


Open Sky

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: ...amputee character???, Implications of violence, M/M, Steampunk AU, a little bit of heartbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jimin always leaves, and yoongi always waits.<br/>or, that airship/steampunk au that no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mscharlottebell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscharlottebell/gifts).



> edited 2/5 for the sake of filling out the universe because accidentally huge au, that's why.

Yoongi's leatherwork was top notch, the best in the Sky Yard, but that wasn't the only reason Jimin went to his shop to get his pieces fitted. The workshop was out of the way, a small place near the Drop, but Jimin went there because Yoongi had fingers like spiderlegs and a natural way with the tools and material he used, the same way Taehyung had with rope and metal on the ship he helped Jimin sail. There was a touch of magic in both of them, something inexplicable a man like Jimin couldn't hope to understand. A wildness in their eyes that drew him to them, though he'd been drawn to Yoongi first.

Jimin went to Yoongi's workshop because Yoongi did good work. Because for the last eight years he'd looked like an angel with the bearing of a convict, with stern, unamused eyes and a mouth that tried so hard not to smile when Jimin made a stupid joke or teased him. Because one of Yoongi's legs was metal from the knee down and he kept on stubbornly refusing to give up on himself. That was... Attractive. But the real, most painful reason Jimin walked back to that little shop so close to the drop, with the poor lighting and the smell of gas and smoke thick in his mouth, was because he needed to know if Yoongi was still waiting for him.

“You're back _,_ ” Yoongi said as Jimin pushed open the door to the workshop, the smell of leather and oil supple in the air and he hadn't heard such a beautiful sound in months. “What did you break now?”

“Thigh holster,” he admitted. “I need a new one.”

“Didn't I just make you a new one three months ago,” Yoongi grumbled, getting up from where he was sitting on a bench, a leatherpunch in his hands, the piece in front of him covered in shining metal rings. “All Saints. Get over here, then. What do you want it made of?”

“Same as the last,” Jimin replied. “The dark brown leather.”

“I might have something already started. I'll support it with copper this time—Do you want two straps or one.”

“I'll take two,” Jimin said, watching Yoongi stilt around the workshop, gathering up pieces, metal and tools and leather. He walked like a bird, just a touch uneven, something in the build of his legs off-measurement. The springs creaked loudly. “It'll be more stable that way, won't it?”

“Should be,” he nodded. “Come on, over here.”

Jimin made his way to the high bench beside where Yoongi was sitting. He kept his leg relaxed as Yoongi's fingers traced his skin, keeping a rein on his breathing. For now. Yoongi was frowning in concentration, measuring with a tape and checking the leathers. The frown turned into a scowl.

“Your thigh's gotten bigger,” he said. Jimin almost smirked. “I'm gonna have to refit it, the old measurements won't work.”

“How long, you think?”

“Couple of days, maybe, at most.”

“Mmm,” Jimin nodded, reaching to smooth his hand through Yoongi's dark hair. “Gonna be working all of those days?”

“If you want your damned holster, yes.”

“There are other things I want more,” he replied, and the satisfaction of Yoongi flushing never got old. Not after all the times they'd done this, not after the years between the two of them. Yoongi flushing with embarrassment and joy and pride would never stop being one of the most beautiful things Jimin had the pleasure of laying his eyes on. “What are you doing tonight, mm?”

“Working,” Yoongi replied.

“Surely you can spare some time for me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I'm heading back out at the end of the week,” Jimin said, and he pretended not to notice the way Yoongi flinched. “I'll be gone six months, at least. Please tell me you can squeeze me in,” he leaned down close to Yoongi's face, lips tracing over his eyebrow. “Please?”

“...I suppose,” Yoongi grumbled. “But get out, for now. I have orders to finish. Come back later.”

“Of course,” Jimin smiled and left the shop with a wave to the older man, who was fussing under his breath and heading back to his large worktable. Once the door closed he pulled the piece of leather he'd lifted off one of the tables out of his pocket to rub between his fingers.

~

When he went back to the shop after a day of spending for the ship's necessities, Jimin closed and locked the door behind himself. The downstairs lights were off, their exposed wires dark and cool as he walked up the awkward set of stairs. How Yoongi navigated them, he'd never know; he'd never seen him climb them in all the time he'd been apprenticing, then working, here. Not up, not down. But when he got to the top of the stairs he was rewarded with the sight of Yoongi sitting on the low bed, rubbing oil into the skin of his half-leg, only glancing up long enough to acknowledge that Jimin was there.

In the dim, flickering firelight Yoongi looked younger, like he had before Jimin left the first time and drove the wedge between their magnetic selves. They never quite touched and Jimin knew it was his fault, but Yoongi... It was his fault too. He could have removed it too.

Yoongi looked away, as though looking Jimin in the eyes for too long was painful, and perhaps it was. More painful than the stretch of skin around the end of his thighbone, muscle finally shielding it from damage after fifteen years.

 _Does it hurt?_ Jimin had asked every possible question at least once before. _Does it feel like it's still there? Do you forget that it's not?_ Yoongi sometimes refused to answer and his curiosity went starved, but he answered the important questions. _Is this all right? Are you sure?_

Jimin made his way to the bed, pulling off his clothes as he went. He knew he was pleasant to look at; broad and built, moreso than he had been the last time he was here. Yoongi seemed skinnier, but perhaps that was just his imagination. Every time he came back it seemed Yoongi had shrunk, his narrow shoulders thin, his chest bony, his jaw too sharp where it had once been soft beneath his lips. It worried Jimin but in moments like this one all he cared about was getting his skin against Yoongi's skin, touching him while he had the chance.

He was nude by the time he made it to the bed, standing in front of Yoongi, who slid his hands up Jimin's legs, smoothed his fingers over the skin like he was something to be worshipped. It was humbling and arousing, and he reached one hand to tuck back Yoongi's hair, despite the scowl he was getting. It was long now, hanging into his narrow eyes and tickling at his cheeks until Jimin carded it out of the way. Yoongi looked up at him and something in Jimin's belly twisted hard.

“You're late,” Yoongi said.

“I wanted to give you some time,” Jimin replied, not lying. He pushed Yoongi back onto the bed, leaned over his body to catch his mouth in a kiss, firm and deep. Yoongi took in one gasping breath before his hands found purchase on Jimin's arms, squeezing just enough that it almost hurt. Jimin pressed down harder on top of the smaller man, felt Yoongi's thighs open and squeeze on his nude hips, soft with the fragrant oil he'd been rubbing into his skin. Jimin had brought that oil back for him, from a country where the trees were green year round and the airships were alive, hung with flowers and vines. He wanted to bring Yoongi there, wanted to see his pale, dewy skin beneath the green-tinted sunlight under the trees. He imagined it sometimes, but. It didn't do Yoongi any justice. He was so beautiful.

When Jimin managed to tear himself away, Yoongi was breathless and pink-lipped. “You look so amazing,” he whispered, bending to kiss the pale neck, sharp jaw. Yoongi always looked like he was just this side of starving these days, just enough flesh to be soft, though his hands and jaw never softened. He looked like he wasn't eating enough but Jimin couldn't tell him what to do, how to take care of himself.

“Shut up,” Yoongi hissed, squeezing his thighs tighter.

“Fucking impatient,” Jimin replied, getting up on his hands and knees, biting Yoongi's shoulder before getting up. Yoongi turned over onto his belly, stretching out like a cat and Jimin had to stare for a moment before words came back to him. “Where is it?”

“Where it always is, you daft piece of shit,” Yoongi replied, too much smile in his voice. Jimin slapped the back of his thigh hard enough that the crack of skin to skin made Yoongi yelp, trying to pull himself up the bed to escape. With a smirk, Jimin got up to pull the silken rope from it's place in the bureau. It's length was heavy in his hand, and as he made his way to the bed he was pleased to see that Yoongi was already on his belly, his hands holding his elbows across his back.

“Saints,” he murmured, climbing up on the bed to start the process of tying Yoongi into position. It was something they'd done for a long time; something full of trust as Jimin wrapped the rope around Yoongi's forearms, especially careful of his thin wrists, the bangles that hung there. Yoongi, so fierce and independent, who had built himself a new leg when he'd lost one, who feared nothing, sighed quietly and pressed his face into the pillow. Jimin kissed the back of his neck, working the rope over skin just tight enough to leave marks but not bruise. He wrapped the rope around Yoongi's hips and down around his thighs, lassoing them together. He looked like Jimin was going to slaughter him and in a way, perhaps he was. Tied up tight, denied any mobility, Yoongi was completely at Jimin's mercy. The process was quiet. Jimin's lips left wet prints on Yoongi's back and neck, the curves of his backside and thighs. He licked at the sweat near his hairline and only the sound of Yoongi's ragged breathing gave indication of his reaction. Jimin tightened the rope and tied it off, turning the older man over onto his back.

He was hard, shoulders straining and nipples tight as Jimin kissed his way from chest to ear. “Look at you,” he murmured, sliding his hands down to grip Yoongi's narrow waist. Yoongi gasped in a breath and wiggled like a worm on a hook. He bit the top of Yoongi's ear, uneven where his piercings had been ripped out four years ago. “All tied up for me. I love you like this, you know.”

“No you don't,” Yoongi panted, straining and squeezing his eyes closed as Jimin mouthed at his throat. Jimin felt something like sadness pull through him; _no you don't,_ every time Jimin said he loved something about Yoongi. _If you did you wouldn't leave._ The second half of that sentiment hung between them sharp as starlight like it had been since the second time they'd been together, before Yoongi had become a master leatherworker and before Jimin had become the captain of his own ship. Jimin wore that shame around his neck, though it's weight was not enough to keep him grounded, just like Yoongi's desperate want was not enough to lift him up.

“I do,” he promised, kissing slowly down Yoongi's body, feeling him pull on his restraints, feeling his hips press up, his legs try to part when Jimin straddled over him. He felt Yoongi tremble when he pulled the vial of oil from the bedside table. He sat up, so Yoongi could watch him slick himself, sighing in satisfaction to be touching himself just the way he liked it, the way he would let Yoongi touch him if he didn't need this so badly, Yoongi at his mercy, squirming, breath shuddering in and out.

He could have spoken, as he tipped the vial over the tight press of Yoongi's skinny thighs. He could have told Yoongi how beautiful he was when he was breathless and shaking, he could have told him how narrow and sharp his shoulders were, how soft and giving his waist was beneath Jimin's hands, but instead he just reached down to rub his fingers between the pale skin, readying the older man for what he liked best, what they'd both liked best for the last few years. Jimin wasn't sure what had changed, but Yoongi had presented him with the rope and used his hands only once to guide Jimin's cock between his thighs, roped together tight enough to bruise and it was how they had been together ever since; Yoongi tied beneath him, Jimin all but drowning.

Jimin spread his legs and tipped the last of the vial over Yoongi's thighs before pressing his length down between them, groaning in satisfaction and relief when he settled, his belly against Yoongi's erection, his mouth on his chest as Yoongi shook beneath him. He made tiny, halting little moaning sounds like he was never going to get a lungful of air again. Jimin felt his legs squeeze and groaned.

“So good,” Jimin murmured, flexing his legs and backside to thrust down. Yoongi's body was pleasantly curled by his forearms tucked under his back, and Jimin's stomach rubbed against him, his hips jerking up and down. “Yes,” Jimin sighed, reaching to put his arms under Yoongi's back, to support him further by cupping his head and fucking down against him, feeling Yoongi's thighs clench and tighten with tension.

“Jimin,” Yoongi panted against the younger man's mouth. “Jimin, Jimin.”

“Again,” Jimin urged, fisting his hands in Yoongi's hair to yank his head back and suck at his neck, thrusting into the tight, slick soft between his legs.

“Jimin,” Yoongi said, teeth bared. His voice was always so carefully restrained. Jimin bit his neck.

“ _Again._ ”

“Jimin,” it was almost a sob. Jimin stopped moving, kissing his ear and jaw. “Jimin, please.” Yoongi shivered beneath him and Jimin flexed, pushed down slow. The older man was soft beneath him, panting and shivering, out of control, completely lost in Jimin's weight and drag of his tongue, just how Jimin liked him, had always loved him. His and only his, always.

“Yoongi,” he breathed, reaching to drag a blanket over their bodies, to trap their heat in between them, to suffocate Yoongi under his weight and the heat of their breath. “I love you.”

“No,” Yoongi said, his length twitching against Jimin's belly where he was fucking down into his thighs, so soft, so tight, holding his cock so well.

“Yes,” Jimin assured, fingers moving away from Yoongi's hair to rub one nipple in slow, tender circles. “I love you.”

“No,”

“I love you,”

“N-no—”

“I love you.”

“ _Jimin—_ ”

Jimin felt Yoongi strain up, unable to get the leverage to thrust up towards him though he tried. He felt him cum in a hot splatter between their bodies, felt him shake as Jimin thrust hard and pulled out from between his thighs to cum on them, pushing back between with a groan. He buried his face in Yoongi's neck and held him so hard he was sure to bruise.

“I love you,” he whispered, and he wished Yoongi would believe it.

_If you loved me, Park Jimin, you wouldn't leave me._

~

The hard silence between them stayed there like a glacial wall Jimin couldn't hope to cross. Yoongi took his measurements and said nothing. His hands were not rough but they weren't gentle. He wouldn't look at Jimin, not in the face, not even when Jimin got down onto his knees and tried desperately to look up at him. His hands made the holster in a day and a half and when he was finished he pushed it into Jimin's chest and refused, still, to look at him. Every time he did this. Every time it broke Jimin's heart.

“Get out.”

“Yoongi.”

“Get out, I said.”

“You could come with me,” Jimin said, begged, not for the first time. He didn't just come to Yoongi's shop because of the quality of his work. He didn't only come because for the last eight years Yoongi had looked like an angel with the mouth of a convict, with stern, unamused eyes and a mouth that tried so hard not to smile when Jimin made a stupid joke or teased him. He didn't only because Yoongi's entire being lit up with joy when he walked through the door. “Yoongi. Come with me.”

“You know damned well I can't,” Yoongi hissed, and his fierce eyes burned into Jimin's heart. “You _know_ I can't. I won't sit on an airship and be useless, Jimin, I won't be stranded in the sky with no way of—of _doing_ anything, I can't, you can't ask me to do that, I _can't._ ”

“You can,” he said, kneeling, holding the holster in his hands like it was the only thing keeping him where he was, still in this place. “Please, Yoongi. Come with me.”

“No,” he replied, and his voice was thick, tied tight with pain and fear. “I have to be here. I have to be here so you can come _back_ to me, Park Jimin. You have to _come back._ ”

Jimin bent his head and rested it on Yoongi's whole thigh. Touched his fingers to the warped skin where Yoongi's left leg had been severed in the accident, fifteen years ago when they were both still children and thought they had forever to live before that instant had changed everything.

“You are the only reason I come back,” Jimin said, pressing a kiss to the inside of Yoongi's thigh. Yoongi's hand was small and thin in his hair, nails scratching along his scalp. “The only thing worth coming back to this shit hole for. We could go forever, Yoongi. We could just _go._ ”

“No,” Yoongi whispered, bending to kiss Jimin's hair. “I will not.”

“Damn you,” Jimin jerked up, fisted his hands in Yoongi's hair and yanked his head close, unfazed when Yoongi did the same to him, dragging him close, down. “ _Damn you,_ Min Yoongi you are _not a burden._ ” He choked on the words, face twisting. “You are not a stone around my neck, do you understand? What are you so afraid of?! Why won't you understand?!” Yoongi's face scrunched in pain and his mouth pursed tightly closed. Jimin wasn't sorry. What he wouldn't have given to pick Yoongi up and shake him, what he wouldn't have given to drag him bodily from the workshop to the ship, where his crew of orphans and outsiders would welcome him with open arms, where the two of them could sail the open sky for as long as there was wind to be found.

“Jimin—”

“Why don't you understand,” Jimin asked, his lips against Yoongi's lips as he pretended it wasn't tears wetting their skin. “You are not my anchor, Yoongi. You are my sails.”

Yoongi gave a dry sob, his fingernails clawing into Jimin's shoulders and scalp. Jimin kissed him and it tasted like despair, just like it had eight years ago, the day before Jimin left Yoongi the first of many times; the sun came up to nothing but a letter and a cheap pendant left on the side of the bed where Jimin's body should have been, the pendant Yoongi still wore on a piece of leather wrapped around his wrist.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, his hands gentling to cradle Jimin's body against his own. “Even if you have to come in the dark without word. Please come back to me, Jimin. Please.”

“I'll always come back,” he said, and Yoongi gave a bark of heartbreaking laughter.

“The wolf only needs enough luck to find you once,” he said, and Jimin closed his eyes. He just wanted to listen to Yoongi's heartbeat a little while longer.

~

“Jimin?”

“Ready the sails,” he said, not bothering to look at Taehyung as he gave the order, voice deep in his throat. “We leave as soon as Hoseok gets back.”

“Jimin,”

“And make sure we don't leave anyone behind this time.”

“Aren't we always leaving someone behind?” Jeongguk's voice was soft and high. There was a straining, tremulous silence. Jimin couldn't move. Couldn't blink. Jeongguk hesitated. “...He's not coming, is he.”

“...No,” Jimin said, and he glanced back at the Sky Yard, towards the furthest edge of the Drop where the workshop sat nestled between junkyards and peddlers. Where a man with wild eyes did magical work with his spiderling hands and waited for a foolish, guilty captain to come back from his adventures with nothing to show for it but the same question, the same promise.

_Come with me._

_I love you._

_Come with me._

_I love you._

_If you did, you wouldn't leave me._

“No, he's not.”

“Next time,” Taehyung said, and Jimin nodded, feeling hollow. There might not be a next time, as Yoongi always reminded him. _The wolf only needs enough luck to find you once._ But his fear of the wolf didn't outweigh the song in his blood that demanded the open sky as it always had. Someday, Jimin wouldn't make it back to the Sky Yard. Perhaps his crew would bring Yoongi his jacket or his trinkets, perhaps Yoongi would press it to his face the way Jimin sometimes pressed his stolen scraps of leather to his cheeks and pretended it was Yoongi's skinny fingers. Perhaps Yoongi would mourn.

Yoongi would mourn, and Jimin hated himself for the weakness of thinking otherwise. Yoongi would mourn.

Jimin didn't think it was so unreasonable to want Yoongi to come with him. At least then the wolf would find them at the same time, and there would be no more waiting. He sometimes wished Yoongi would understand that the fear... It went both ways between them. Yes, Jimin might never come back, but someday Yoongi might... Might not be waiting for him.

“Next time,” Jimin repeated, fingernails digging into his palm.

~

Yoongi sat at the workbench, hands fisted in his hair, hands buried in his forearms, in the cloth of Jimin's shirt, worn and dirty and still smelling like his skin, like the mess of his hair and the wild of the sky he loved so much. In the quiet of the workshop Yoongi cursed himself, cursed his fear, his ruined leg and the sky that ripped Jimin away from him, over and over and over again. A bird may love a fish, but where would they live? In limbo, in moments when the lovebird came down to grace the fish with their presence. In a time not-there, not often enough, the space between enough to starve the fish to near death, and sometimes the bird that came down was not the lovebird but an eagle, and the fish was a meal, not a lover.

In the quiet of the workshop, Yoongi put a notch in a board of the table with his knife. One hundred and eighty three days left.

One hundred and eighty three days, and maybe he'd be brave enough to follow Jimin into the sky. If he had to suffocate, if he had to die, it would be better to die at the hands of the lovebird, instead of the eagles. If Jimin could be brave enough to jump down from the Drop then why couldn't he?

“Open up, Min!”

Yoongi flinched.

“Now!”

He pushed up from the table and walked, steps uneven as he opened the door to face down the eagles.

“He's not here,” Yoongi said, supporting himself with the doorframe and feeling a sadistic curl of satisfaction in the pit of his gut. “He's halfway to the Wistman's Watch by now.” A big fist wrapped itself in Yoongi's shirt and drew him close to the predator. He fought not to squirm. He could bear this. He could bear this for Jimin, as he had for the last few years. Since he'd made a name for himself and started to slip into the shop at dusk instead of daylight.

“When we catch that damned pirate,” the eagle snarled. “We'll get rid of you, Min. You'll have outlived your usefulness.”

“You'll never catch him,” Yoongi hissed. Jimin's ship was swift, his crew fearsome. Even he knew the rumours, even he knew the secret whispers in the taverns and smithies.

_The wolf only needs enough luck to find you once._

Yoongi wouldn't let it happen; not these wolves, not in this place.

Never.

One hundred and eighty three days.

 

> “You're too mouthy for your own good, Min.”

He could hold the wolves off for that long.

 

> “We need you alive, but you know what.”

His lovebird would come back.

 

> “Maybe it's time your legs matched.”

He'd come back.

 

> “Choi. Lock that door. Jung. Heat this blade.”

Jimin would _come back._

Jimin would come back, Yoongi promised himself as metal and leather hit the floor, and his back hit the metal of his worktable.

~

Through the porthole Jimin looked first to the Sky Yard, towards the furthest edge of the Drop where the workshop sat nestled between junkyards and peddlers. He watched the two young men with bright eyes and wild grins run towards that workshop. He tried not to pace, not to claw his hair out as he walked back and forth below deck, not allowed to climb above. He was too well known now, he was too notorious to see the light of day while they were at dock. He'd been foolish, that last time. Too cocky. Too many of them had gotten away and word had spread across the planet like wildfire.

Hours passed. It shouldn't take so long. Hours.

He rubbed the piece of leather he kept in his pocket, a hole nearly worn into it as he stared out over the cabin and waited for something; anything. A sound. A shift.

“Hoseok! We're off! Now, go go go—!”

The entire airship jolted away from the dock. Jimin heard shouting, screaming, the sound of Taehyung and Seokjin working the magic he'd hired them for to keep the authorities away as Hoseok blew wind into their sails and Namjoon held the helm in his capable hands. The ship protested the rough treatment, her cannons pulling at their chains and her cargo pulling at the ropes, but eventually the ride evened out; they were away from the port, out in the open sky and no one had chased them.

“Captain?” Jeongguk's little voice came through the door and Jimin lurched up, terrified. Had they not been able to reach the workshop before they were recognized? Had Yoongi refused to come with them, had his stubbornness finally ripped them apart completely—

But the door opened and there was Jeongguk and on his back, holding desperately to his shoulders, was Yoongi; the stumps of his thighs holding tight to his waist and Jimin felt a fully irrational rush of hate before he jerked up and tried to take Yoongi in his arms, Jeongguk ducking out from between them. Jimin held Yoongi's waist in his hands and staggered backward. The door closed and Yoongi, Yoongi spoke.

“Jimin,” he breathed, his weight light and his fingers tight in Jimin's hair. “Jimin. Jimin, you came back.”

“I told you I would,” he replied, and he couldn't help but laugh as he sank to the floor, Yoongi perched in his lap. “I promised you the wolf wouldn't find me.”

“Yes,” Yoongi whispered, resting his head on Jimin's shoulder. Jimin's fingers traced over the ruined pink skin of his right leg, touching where there had been a full limb, just six months ago. As much as he wanted to know what had happened he also didn't want to know. Yoongi was clinging to him with his arms and his thighs and Jimin just wanted to drown in it, in the smell of his skin and the taste of his lips.

“I love you,” Jimin murmured, and there was a long moment of silence. He got up and dragged their bodies onto the bed, pushed Yoongi back to the pillows and ripped open his shirt to expose his pale skin, his heaving chest. He needed to be as close as he could be, he needed to claim Yoongi as his own, he needed to break open his ribcage and crawl inside, to kiss his heart and cradle it against his own.

Yoongi was tearing at Jimin's clothes, the cloth ripping, their lips hardly separating. They shared breath as Jimin raked his nails down the insides of Yoongi's thighs and Yoongi did the same to Jimin's chest, their nails digging into skin, Jimin's teeth sinking into Yoongi's neck as he grabbed for a vial and for the first time in years, when Jimin went to push Yoongi's thighs together, Yoongi shook his head and spread them open, laying back against the pillows and trembling, reaching to grip the backs of his thighs and pull them towards his chest.

A reverent quiet slipped into the cabin like mist. Jimin was careful, tender, cautious as he sank his fingers into his lover, his beloved, for the first time in years. He felt Yoongi open for him, his voice ringing out loud and shameless, never like the workshop. When he sank into him—when he got on his knees and pulled Yoongi up his legs, rolled him up on himself and thrust hard, inside in one slick, swift thrust—Jimin couldn't breathe. He bent to press their bodies together, felt Yoongi's thighs squeeze at his waist. He reached to drag a blanket over their bodies, to trap their heat in between them, to suffocate Yoongi under his weight and the heat of their breath and suffocated with him, desperate, hands in his dark hair, sweat dripping as he mouthed at his neck and thrust into his lovers, his beloved's, body. He wanted to drown there, with Yoongi's hands on his back.

“I love you,” he moaned, mewled, confessed as he braced his arms on either side of Yoongi's head and kissed him. “I love you, Yoongi.”

“...I love you,” Yoongi whispered, the words ripped from his throat. Jimin bit so hard at Yoongi's shoulder the older man cried out in pain.

“Again,” he demanded, his hand reaching between them.

“I love you,”

“ _Again._ ”

“I love you,” Yoongi moaned and Jimin pinned him to the bed, bit his neck and chest, bruised Yoongi's wrists as he held them down and fucked down hard between Yoongi's open thighs, caged him in with his arms and the blanket and the ship and the sky and begged him to say them again, again, until he was nearly singing them. “I love you, I love you, I _love_ you _,_ Park Jimin, _I love you._ ”

Jimin came to the sound of Yoongi's voice saying his name, felt hot wet on his belly and sank down to let his weight rest on top of his older lover. Yoongi wrapped his arms around his shoulders and refused to let him up. In the silence, Jimin kissed Yoongi's wet lips and rubbed the raw skin of his legs. “The sky is ours,” he whispered. “And it goes on forever, Yoongi.”

“We go on forever,” Yoongi replied, his voice just as soft, just as reverent. Let the wolves give chase; Yoongi had wings like Jimin had wings and together, they would outrun them.

 


	2. With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> taehyung joined the crew by accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just gonna be writing little snippets about this particular au because i like it a lot and because it was supposed to be porn but then it wasn't.  
> there is no porn in this chapter though it's implied.

Kim Taehyung had never met Min Yoongi, but he knew he had to be something special. Min Yoongi had to be something special because after every successful raid, after every cinched job if they were close enough they came back to Sky Yard and Jimin would disappear.

Min Yoongi had to be something special because Jimin would come back with leather in his pockets and an uncharacteristic silence on his lips, so when Jimin grabbed Taehyung by the biceps and asked him to bring Yoongi to the ship, he agreed readily.

“Course, boss,” he said, smiling brightly. “How do I get there? What's he look like?”

Jimin gave him directions ( _ _his shop is so close to the edge of the settlement he's nearly on the Drop__ ) a description ( _ _short, metal leg, looks kind of mad all the time, don't worry, that's just his face__ ) and instructions ( _ _tell him I'm here, he might not need any more convincing than that but if he does, tell him I'm hurt or something.__  That's a lie, boss.  _ _Well. He'll live.__ ) and told him to go, to take Jeongguk with him.

So he was headed toward the shop, whistling, looking around and occasionally stopping to look at trinkets or useful little gadgets he could take apart and put back together into  _ _more__ useful gadgets. The longer they took, the more agitated Jeongguk got, like a puppy on a leash.

“Come  _ _on,__  Taehyung,” he complained, nearly bouncing. “He wanted us to get Yoongi, we should  _ _go.__ ”

“He's waited six months,” Taehyung pointed out. “Another few hours isn't gonna kill him.”

“But it's  _ _important,__ ” Jeongguk protested, and Taehyung rolled his eyes at the thrice-damned  _ _whine__ in his voice like he was some kind of child. Not that he wasn't. A child, that is, but that wasn't the fucking point, the point was that Taehyung had shit to do and Jeongguk was whining about their captain's love affair with some leatherworkman like he had some kind of investment in it.

“Making sure I have all the parts to keep the engine running and the guns functioning is important, would you calm down?!” He sighed in exasperation and Jeongguk crossed his arms.

“I'm going ahead then,” he said, and Taehyung flitted his hand back and forth in a 'whatever' kind of motion. Let Jeongguk worry himself into a hole in the ground, Taehyung had work to do out here, too. Maintaining the ship wasn't as hard as it could have been, he had a Gift after all, but he wanted everything to be in top form for the next time they went out. He was worried, everyone was worried. It was going to be for the long haul, and they wouldn't have the time to stop at another big port to get the supplies they'd need while they were out there in the clouds. The rest of the crew had been out all day, getting what they needed and now—now it was his turn.

By the time he'd gotten all he thought he needed, it was nearly three hours later and he was carrying two big bags and making his way to the shop Jimin had told him about. He pushed open the door to the smell of leather and oil and the sight of Jeongguk sitting at a table with a man who must have been Min Yoongi. He matched the description, anyway. Small, angry looking. He couldn't see if he had a metal leg from where he stood but if the judgmental squint was any indication, he was probably looking at the right guy.

“What can I do for you,” he asked, and Jeongguk turned around to look at him, eyes wide.

“Ah, Taehyung!” At least he was smiling now and not pouting or complaining like he had been a few hours ago. It was intolerable when he got fussy. Taehyung dropped his bags and offered his most brilliant grin to the man on the other side of the table as though that would make him be more friendly.

“I told you I'd get here, didn't I?” he asked, making his way to the table where Jeongguk was sitting across from Yoongi, who had his hands on what looked like a harness. “You must be Yoongi.”

“I am,” he replied, eyes narrow. “Who are you.”

“Kim Taehyung,” he replied, sitting beside Jeongguk with no reverence whatsoever. “I'm a gunman on the  _ _Peregrine__. That's—”

“Jimin's ship,” Yoongi said, and if Taehyung didn't know any better he'd have thought Yoongi sounded wistful. Depressed, even. “Yes, I know.”

“Then Jeongguk's already told you why we're here.”

“He has.”

“You're not packed.”

“He's not coming,” Jeongguk said softly, and Taehyung turned to look at him. Looked back at Yoongi.

“Why not?”

“He won't be able to find safe port here, if I leave,” Yoongi said, and Taehyung frowned.

“How do you figure—”

“Min!” Taehyung jumped at the loud banging on the door. Yoongi flinched and Jeongguk all but dove under the table in alarm, electricity crackling at his fingertips. “Open up, Min, we know he's in there!”

“He?” Taehyung asked, and when he looked at Yoongi he saw him scrambling to get up onto two metal posts, trying to strap them around his thighs with trembling fingers. Taehyung couldn't help but wonder what the hell he was doing that for as he got up from the bench, grabbed for his bags. “Wh—”

The door burst open and Yoongi fell to the ground, shouting in pain and Jeongguk reacted like he always did—with panic, his Gift all but shooting out from his hands and rendering the five men in uniform half-conscious. On the ground, they groaned and rolled and Jeongguk scrambled out from under the table, trying to speak but it all came out gibberish as he struggled to help Yoongi up from the floor.

Taeyung made an executive decision.

“Time to go!” he said, grabbing a few of the tools off the table, the harness Yoongi had been holding. He shoved it all into the top of one of the bags before cinching it shut again, throwing it over his shoulder. “Jeongguk, grab Yoongi, let's go!”

“But—”

“That's an order!”

Taehyung could run. He could run like the fucking wind but he didn't know his way around the city. They had to get off this port, now, before someone caught on that Jeongguk had just  _ _assaulted__ five armed guardsmen and the ensuing investigation would reveal that they were with the __Peregrine__. “Where am I running!” he called, taking off down the street, turning his head just enough to see Jeongguk with Yoongi holding desperately to his shoulders, the metal halves of his legs forgotten in the rush to get away. “Which way!”

“Left!” Yoongi shouted, and Taehyung curved that way, slamming into people left and right and honestly not giving a damn. He could hear guardsmen, the telltale sound of metal clinking and authoritative commands but he just kept running, kept following Yoongi's shouted instructions until they were at the piers and he was running up the mooring plank, gasping for air as he tried to speak loud and clear. “Hoseok! We're off! Now, go go go—!”

Hoseok turned to look at them and started to holler, and Seokjin came flying up from below deck with his hands already on fire. Namjoon jerked up from his reading and grabbed for the helm and it all happened so fast—Yoongi and Jeongguk hit the deck just as the ship lurched away from the pier, the mooring plank dropping off, down into the space between the sky and the ground. The guardsmen raised their guns and magic and Taehyung flung down his bags and spread out his hands.

The immense pressure of the shift in power made him grit his teeth, but the shield would keep them from getting killed. He had to make sure they all made it through this. He had to make sure no one  _ _died,__ he had to make sure they would all see the sunrise, see the light of the double suns pierce the sky. Hoseok was already blowing air into the sails, Namjoon guiding the ship out towards the open sky and Seokjin—bless him—was burning the pier to create more distance.

By the time they'd gotten far enough away, Taehyung thought he was going to die, collapsing to the deck covered in sweat, muscles shaking. His nose was bleeding. He turned his head to see Jeongguk lifting Yoongi up onto his back to carry him below deck to where Jimin was all but locked into his quarters, not allowed to come out until they were a safe distance from port and most likely tearing his own hair out with nerves.

Then Seokjin was in his view, his hands still hot as he cradled Taehyung's head. “Can you see,” he asked, and Taehyung nodded, grateful that Seokjin was pulling him to sit up so the blood wasn't slipping down the back of his throat. “Can you breathe,” he asked, and Taehyung nodded again, blood dripping down his lips and chin. “Saints, Taehyung, that was fucking reckless,” he said, and Taehyung was inclined to agree, relaxing back into Seokjin as Hoseok came running with a rag, pressing it to his right ear.

“Saints,” Hoseok echoed, pressing the rag hard. “You could try a little harder not to bleed out through your face, Kim Taehyung.” Taehyung smiled and watched Hoseok bite his lip as he wiped at Taehyung's ear and moved the rag under his nose like he was wiping snot off a child. It hurt, but Taehyung was grateful that the itchy mess would be off his lip. His head felt like it was going to pop at any second and explode into nothing but brain and skull everywhere and he really wasn't enjoying the drying blood on top of that. God, he just wanted to get some sleep. “Come on, you need to get some rest.”

“Yes,” he agreed, letting his friends help him up, letting them lead him to his quarters, to his hammock and heavy blanket. Taehyung's country wasn't cold, but Taehyung had been cold many nights for a very long time and no matter how warm it got, no matter where they traveled, he wrapped himself in that heavy blanket to sleep.

He sighed as Seokjin all but tucked him in, kissed his forehead, again, again.

“You're very foolish,” he chided, and Taehyung whined. “But very brave. I'll make sure your things get put away, all right? You get some rest.”

“Seokjin,” he said, and the older man looked down at him. “My goodnight kiss.”

“Greedy,” Seokjin laughed, though he bent to kiss Taehyung anyway, slipping their lips and tongues together, his hand coming up to cup Taehyung's head like he was the most precious thing he could touch, could love, like he had been for years and Taehyung was just as grateful now as he had been the first time. “Get some rest,  _ _elanilé,__ ” Seokjin whispered. “Recover for me.”

“I will,” he sighed, closing his eyes and fisting one hand in his blanket while the other held on to Seokjin until he passed into a deep and healing sleep.

~

Taehyung had never planned on being on an airship. He'd been quite convinced that he'd always be on the ground and honestly, he'd been all right with it. The idea of being something, someone, other than who he was... That was just inconceivable. He'd been raised on the dirty streets and he would always be there. He made the best of it and it wasn't so bad. When winter frost snuck in, he slept with the others, tangled together under a bridge or an awning. He was hungry, but almost never starving. He only ever lifted purses when he had to—when it had been six days since his last meal and he had to do something because he'd be too slow to help himself, soon. He'd get caught trying to steal a scrap to eat and probably have two of his fingers cut off as punishment and the infection would kill him like it had a few of his friends.

So when he lifted the small coin purse from the thick leather belt he did so while feeling guilty and sorry. At least, until the man said coin purse belonged to whirled around and grabbed him by the arm, throwing him against the wall hard enough to make him see spots and when his vision cleared all he could see was the knife at his throat.

 _Oh._ Maybe dying wouldn't be so bad. But the man on the other side of the knife had a face like an angel and he stared at Taehyung while Taehyung stared back at him for far too long. As the knife pulled away, Taehyung thought about shoving the man, running away, but he was so tired. So tired and weak that he just sank to the ground, wanting to cry. He was just so cold, so fucking  _ _hungry.__

“...Get up.”

Taehyung stayed down. He knew better than to get up, and he wasn't sure he could.

“If you want a meal, get up. Get up and look at me.”

Against his better judgement (even the suggestion of a meal, the ghost of a promise, was enough to have his body desperate to obey) he put his hand on the wall and... And tried to get up, making it halfway before he fell back down, slamming his head back into the brick. The man in front of him hesitated, and bent to lift him. For the first time in his life, Taehyung was helped up, maneuvered up onto the man's back and he was so confused, so disoriented that all he could do was drop his head onto the broad shoulder and close his eyes.

When he woke up again, he was in a bed. Taehyung knew what a bed felt like, because sometimes he went home with people who flashed him enough money, but he was alone. He was alone and tucked under a heavy blanket and there were voices speaking softly.

“He's like me, I'm almost certain, Jimin. Let me work with him for a few days—”

“We don't  _ _have__ a few days,” Jimin said, his voice was high and sweet like a child. “We have to get the the Mistman's Wood before they find out we're here, we need a navigator, Seokjin, not some—”

“Then let him come,” the man, his savior, asked. “Let him come, Jimin, it's just the two of us and we can always use the extra hands.” There was a moment of silence. “Jimin. Please.”

“All right,” Jimin said with a sigh. “All right, Seokjin, just. Just make sure he doesn't get hurt. And you don't get hurt.”

“I will,” he replied, and Taehyung opened his eyes. He was looking at... Wood. Wood, over his head, a ceiling. He tried to sit up and fell back to the bed, shivering violently. “Oh,” there was that angelface again, looking down at him. “Oh, you're awake. Come on, let me help you up.”

“Uh?” he asked, his voice rasping.

“I promised you a meal if you got up, didn't I?” he said, and Taehyung dropped his head in something like a nod. “Good, you remember. Just stay here a moment, all right? I'll get you something to eat.”

Taehyung's stomach almost hurt at the mention of a meal. Angelface disappeared and then reappeared and there was a delicious smell, something rich and spicy and Taehyung's belly rolled.

“Come on,” Angelface—Seokjin?— said, and Taehyung felt a spoon against his lips, opened his mouth to swallow the broth, thick and smooth down his throat. It tasted like ambrosia. But he could have been eating rotten carnfruit and he still would have thought it was delicious. “There you go. All right, another, come on.”

Taehyung was fed. He was fed until he was warm and full and Angelface—Seokjin—tucked him back down. “I'll come back down later,  _ _elanil__ _é_ ,” he said, and Taehyung tried to find his voice around the sleepy feeling coming down like snow.

“Th. Thank you,” he said, and Seokjin smiled, smoothing back his hair.

“Don't thank me. You're the one who tried to get up.”

Taehyung hadn't understood what Seokjin meant, then. It took weeks before he could really comprehend it. Weeks of Seokjin trying to teach him that he had a gift, weeks of Seokjin assuring him when he couldn't figure out it was, or why, or how to make it work. Weeks of Jimin watching him with a raised eyebrow until the need to make himself useful made Taehyung push himself to exhaustion, doing everything he was allowed to do to keep himself from being completely useless.

But he kept getting up.

He kept getting up, and when a piece of the aft engine blew, when the ship was losing altitude and spiraling, when it seemed like they were going to die, Taehyung reached out and grabbed it. He grabbed the ship and held it, held it still and stable until Jimin repaired the engine to the best of his knowledge and they were able to land safely. They were able to land safely and Taehyung didn't remember most of it, because he'd collapsed to the desk with blood coming out of his nose and ears and eyes, and all he could really recall was Jimin shouting his name, holding his head, and Seokjin's hands on his neck, trying to get him to focus.

“Taehyung, Taehyung,  _ _elanilé__ , please—”

“M'fine,” he remembered saying. “M'fine.”

Jimin had started paying him, after that.  _ _You're a proper crew member now,__  he said.  _ _Not some stowaway.__ He taught Taehyung the ins and outs of the engines, so he wouldn't have to exert so much power all at once again, if it was avoidable. He gave Taehyung books about machinery and taught him how to read them. He taught Taehyung how to defend himself under Seokjin's watchful eye. The two of them became friends, close friends, and Seokjin...

Seokjin, Taehyung came to know in the most intimate of ways. They kissed once, on the deck while Seokjin was watching the helm and compass. They kissed once and again, and again, they kissed out under the stars and below deck. Seokjin pulled Taehyung's hair to expose his neck and spread his legs wider to let him closer, Seokjin moaned sweetly into his ear and Taehyung fell to pieces in his grip, desperately in love with him, with the savior he'd been and the man he'd become.  _ _Elanilé,__ Seokjin called him, and Taehyung learned that it translated to  _ _little star__

“You're disgusting,” Jimin teased once, after Namjoon had joined them and Seokjin no longer had to stay at the helm all night, could instead spend his nights in his quarters with Taehyung if he chose. “And  _ _loud.__ ”

“You wouldn't think it was so annoying if you had a lover here,” Taehyung replied, sniffing. He felt awful for mentioning it when Jimin's eyes lost their ever-present sunlight and his hands reached into his pockets to thumb at the piece of leather he always carried. “Jimin. Jimin, I'm sorry.” He knew that whoever Min Yoongi was, he was something very special, and he hadn't meant to cause Jimin any pain in mentioning him.

“No, you're right,” Jimin had said, staring out over the mountains they were flying over. “You're right. If he was here... But he isn't.”

~

Taehyung woke to the sound of Jeongguk singing, as he often did. It was reassuring. Jeongguk had been the last to join them, plucked up from a port where he'd been performing simple little tricks with his Gift before Hoseok and Namjoon had sort of tricked him into coming with them. Taehyung liked Jeongguk; he was soft and quiet and adored the older crew members, which was... Well, like Jimin had once said, disgusting and yet.

“You're awake,” Seokjin's voice was a music more sweet than Jeongguk and he turned to look at him, smiling. “You scared me. That was foolish.”

“S'fine,” he laughed weakly. “Everything's fine, right? We're all fine.”

“Only because you almost killed yourself,  _ _elanilé.__ Try not to be so cocksure next time.”

“Cocksure,” Taehyung giggled and Seokjin slapped him on the arm.

“I'm being  _ _serious.__ ”

“Yes, I understand, I'm sorry,” he said, and he grinned when Seokjin bent down to kiss him. They kissed, and kissed again, and again until Taehyung was out of breath and Seokjin was smiling against his mouth. “ _ _Nal lostras__ ,” he murmured, and Taehyung kissed that smile, rubbed their noses together.

“I love you too,” he said, smoothing his fingers through Seokjin's soft hair. “I do.”

“I know,” Seokjin said, after taking a moment to kiss Taehyung's fingers. “I know you do,  _ _elanilé.__ ”

Taehyung felt like he could never say it enough. He'd be shouting it into the sky for the rest of his life, for as long as he could get air into his lungs.

“Come on lovebirds!” Hoseok's voice broke the tender silence with a pounding on the door. “New day, suns are up, get your asses on deck! We have airships to raid!”

Taehyung was mesmerized, as he always was, by the shift in Seokjin's eyes to something brutal and fearsome, the grin on his lips anything but kind. Seokjin, he knew, came from a tradition of warriors. How he had come to Jimin, Taehyung had no idea. But when the call to fight came Seokjin was stunning, savage, and Taehyung grabbed him by the air, dragged him down into a kiss that was more bite than anything, let Seokjin drag him out of the hammock and slam their weight against the bureau. He clawed at his chest beneath his shirt while Seokjin bit his neck.

“After,” he hissed. “We'll fuck after we've ruined them, lover, I swear, I'll make you scream.”

“You always do,” Seokjin's eyes were alight, fire tickling through his hair and Taehyung yanked on his leathers as Seokjin threw open the door and stalked up the stairs to the deck proper. Already there was shouting, and Taehyung smirked.

God, he loved it. He loved being a pirate, and he loved being up in the sky, where that hungry little boy had never dreamed of being.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO JUST BE JIMIN AND YOONGI AND THIGHFUCKING I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED AUGH  
> this is also hellishly inconsistent sorry about that i wrote it in like. uh. two hours.


End file.
